


your tulips on mine

by leftishark



Series: fem!sheith flower shop au [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bike shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chronic Illness, F/F, Fem!Keith, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Loving Family, author can't write conflict to save her life, everyone is a woman, except their dads, fem!sheith, fem!shiro - Freeform, only elaborate backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 15:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftishark/pseuds/leftishark
Summary: A fem!sheith flower shop au ft. Keith’s rollerblades, Shiro’s rabbit, and the healing power of plants.“Bunny’s at home,” Shiro jokes when Keith pokes her head in the door. “Sorry to disappoint.”“Guess I’ll settle for you,” Keith grins.Shiro is doomed.





	your tulips on mine

**Author's Note:**

> a very very belated happy birthday to lee! i had so much fun putting some of your favorite fic tropes together and trying to sneakily figure out your fem!sheith preferences hehe
> 
> the second part in the series is just notes/sources. also sorry if you were expecting 13k because of the twitter post, that was an error!! 
> 
> big thanks to sarah for cheerleading and everyone on twitter who helped with ideas for this fic! <3
> 
> edited 7/29 to add amazing art from a kind anonymous artist!!! thank you!!

Shiro sees a girl with a mullet and roller blades and walks into the door of her own flower shop.

To be fair, Shiro has a bucket of foliage tucked under her arm and a rabbit carrier in her hand, and the girl is reaching up to put some sort of flyer on the wall. Shiro maybe has a thing for community engagement.

“Uh, hey,” the girl says. _Oh no_ , Shiro panics, her voice is hot, too, low and a little bit husky. Shiro is the worst with girls when she’s caught off guard, and she wasn’t expecting any of this. “You ok?” 

“Yeah, yeah, all good, just—uh, distracted.” Shiro sets the carrier and bucket down and fishes out her keys. “Forgot about the door.”

“Want me to--?”

Normally, Shiro rejects offers of physical help for a multitude of reasons, but she lets the girl hold the door once she unlocks it and even pick up the bucket of greens.

Inside, the flower shop is bursting with early-spring blooms, sunny yellow daffodils and rich purple irises, potted greenery on the shelf that runs along one wall and succulents under the windows. Shiro places the carrier gently on the counter, hangs her bomber jacket on the coat stand, and tugs her sleeves into place where they’ve bunched up around her shoulders. This shirt is getting a little tight now that she’s several weeks into her new workout. Too bad; it’s her favorite Henley.

The girl is still standing at the door, holding the bucket of leaves and gaping at the spectacle of Shiro’s frazzled entrance. 

“Last-minute vet appointment,” Shiro explains, gesturing at the carrier, and the girl comes in, slowly gliding around buckets of bouquets until she reaches the counter. She leans down to peek in through the grate at Shiro’s fluffy Angola, staying a respectful distance away. 

“What’s your name?” 

_What’s yours,_ Shiro wants to reply. “Bunny.”

“It suits her,” says the girl with a little smile.

“I know, I know, who names their rabbit _Bunny_ \--”

“I’m serious,” she insists, looking up. Serious is a good look on her, her eyes earnest and intense. “It’s a good name. I like it.” 

Shiro’s not sure what to do with all that sincerity, and the girl seems a little lost, too. She fiddles with the stack of fliers still in her hands and startles when Shiro’s gaze drops to them.

“Oh! I gotta go. Here.” She slides one over to Shiro. “For the shop, if you want.”

Then she’s skating out of the store, and Shiro is stuck frozen in place staring at how she maneuvers with captivating ease around the floral displays until the door swings shut behind her. 

Shiro yanks it open again. “My name’s Shiro!”

The girl whirls around on her roller blades. “Keith,” she says. “I’m Keith.”

*

Keith rollerblades, walks, bikes, and skateboards by the flower shop before she finally pulls the door open. 

“Just a moment,” Shiro says at the cheerful bell, crouched in front of the tulips in the back corner. When she straightens up, she’s even taller than Keith remembers now that she’s not elevated by her rollerblades, and just as stunning. “Keith! Hi!”

Be cool, Keith told herself before she came in. Build on what you have in common. “Is Bunny in today?” 

“And here I was hoping you were back for our unparalleled quality and variety of local blooms.” Shiro gestures at the fiery orange-streaked flowers she was adjusting. She’s smiling today, and the way her eyes scrunch up at the corners is devastating. “First tulips of the season.” 

It’s impossible not to smile back. “Guess I’ll settle for those.” 

Shiro is efficient selecting a bunch, trimming it, and wrapping it one-handed once Keith assures her she really does want them. The quiet is comfortable, Keith thinks. Hopes. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

“So you work at Bikes and Blades?” Shiro points her chin at the flier Keith shoved at her last time, now tacked on a bulletin board to the side of the counter. _Voltron’s women-owned and operated collective for bicycles, rollerblades, and more! Celebrating 30 years with a fundraiser sale and block party!_

Keith nods.

“My dad used to take me all the time, before…” She rolls her shoulder, which ends just below the swell of her deltoid. “I still get his presents there. I haven’t seen you, though.”

“I usually stay in the back,” Keith explains. “Assembly and repairs.”

“Good with your hands, then?”

“More like I’m shit at customer service,” Keith mutters before the innuendo catches up to her.

“Yeah, it can be rough,” Shiro laughs. “Sometimes you meet cool people, though.”

Is Keith cool? She’s never cared, but suddenly Shiro’s assessment is paramount. “And sometimes you get annoying customers who won’t leave you alone?” 

“I’m good at letting people know when they’re not welcome,” Shiro says firmly, and Keith can feel herself melting at both the image of Shiro intimidating an unwanted visitor and how her smile turns from sharp to soft. “Just to be clear, you’re welcome any time.”

*

“Bunny’s at home,” Shiro jokes when Keith pokes her head in the door. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Guess I’ll settle for you,” Keith grins. 

Shiro is doomed.

* 

Keith drops in once or twice a week before work. They chat about Shiro’s rabbit, Keith’s dog named Wolf, rude and interesting customers. Sometimes Keith buys flowers—for the bike shop, she says, though her favorites she keeps for herself. Sometimes, if the shop has excess unsold bouquets for the shelter, Shiro gives her one. 

“Each one is like a little universe,” Keith observes one day as she watches Shiro tuck sprigs of eucalyptus into a sea of hydrangeas. Kolivan’s homemade hummus is sitting between them, half-eaten.

“And I, the all-powerful creator,” Shiro murmurs. 

She looks like a god, or a goddess, or something, so built that hints of musculature show through long dark sleeves, the bangs hanging over her eyes streaked with white like she was touched by magic. 

“Is that why you like it?” 

Shiro laughs softly. “My ego’s not that big.”

 _It could be,_ Keith thinks, _to match the rest of you._

*

“I like the care,” Shiro admits later that week. 

She’s spreading sand around the pointy pink-tipped Dudleya cuttings freshly planted in little pots. The shop propagates their own to sell, since the global succulent frenzy has led to poaching of wild coastal specimens. They’ll grow in the back until they’re big and healthy enough to display.

“It started with Bunny, I guess. Turns out working with living things helps a lot. And then my mom started giving me plants.” She shuffles the pots around the tray, rearranging them in meaningless patterns. “They’re kind of magical—turning water, soil, air, and sun into flowers and leaves. Into life.” 

Keith hums, moving the bag of sand aside and shifting a little bit closer to Shiro. 

“But they’re also depending on me. I have to pay attention to them, take care of them. And in turn, they remind me that life is beautiful, and precious, and deserves compassion.” Shiro looks up and gives Keith a tiny smile. “Including mine.” 

Keith reaches out gently, and Shiro waits, inviting, as she rests her hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

* 

A woman with a gray perm and Shiro’s stature is sweeping up floral detritus during Keith’s usual afternoon visit. 

“Is Shiro in today?” Keith asks, looking around like she might be hiding among the leaves. 

“You must be Keith,” the woman replies.

She’s friendly enough behind her intimidating carriage, though Keith gets the impression that she’s being subtly interrogated. Still, she leaves with a handful of gummy candies, pieces of the flower shop’s history, and an assurance that Shiro is okay.

* 

“Your mom is cool,” Keith says when she walks in.

Shiro chuckles where she’s going through the store’s accounts on the old Dell her dad refuses to replace. She agrees, more or less, but it’s not usually the first impression people get. “That’s one word for her.” 

“Bunny is still cooler.” 

“Bunny is the coolest.” 

Keith laughs, shaking her head. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” Shiro returns, and means it. She waves at her face and the lingering rash that slashes pink across her nose and cheeks. “Lupus is a bitch.” 

Keith’s face twists like she’s not sure whether she’s supposed to laugh or grimace in sympathy. “I’ll bet.”

“But it’s my bitch,” Shiro shrugs, grinning wryly. 

Keith nods, looking thoughtful, and wanders over to straighten up the roses. She looks good, black leather against red petals. 

“Your mom said that all of this is thanks to you.”

“Ugh, of course she did,” Shiro groans, though her chest glows warm. 

“Moms,” says Keith in understanding. 

Shiro grins back, though she hopes Keith doesn’t grasp the full extent of the situation. Her mom has backed off from setting her up with every eligible young woman in her acquaintance, but Shiro wouldn’t put it past her to try to get her and Keith together. 

Not that Shiro’s opposed to that, exactly. She’d just rather not be quite so transparent. 

“Her family had one of the oldest chrysanthemum farms in the state,” she says, “until it was bought up—one of those Sincline development projects.”

“She mentioned that. Fuck capitalism,” Keith huffs, shaking her head. Shiro falls a little harder.

“Yeah. Don’t get me started on the globalization of the flower industry. Anyway, maybe they could’ve fought it, but they had me. And I guess they both loved the flower part, but the farming not so much.”

“Only the tiniest farming now,” Keith says, glancing at the succulents by the window. 

Shiro laughs softly. “I get to do most of that. They do a lot of deliveries, farmer’s markets—my dad loves those. My mom’s usually taking care of big orders behind the scenes.” Shiro nods at the swinging doors that lead to the hallway and back room. 

“She hasn’t been eavesdropping on us, has she?” 

Shiro’s getting better at telling when Keith is joking and when she’s being sincere. The problem is that she’s always sincere, even when she’s joking.

“Oh, no, she’s always listening to her podcasts,” Shiro reassures her. Her mom plays hard but stringently fair, which makes it extra annoying when she wins. “And then telling me about them in excruciating detail.”

“She knew who I was,” Keith presses, but Shiro is pretty sure she’s teasing now.

“Ah, yeah.” Shiro runs her fingers through the floof of her hair. “I might have mentioned you a few times.” 

Keith hums, looking pleased. She moves on to the section of pale pink roses tipped with green, softer than the red but the contrast with her no less striking. “So your parents lost the flower farm. Then you rediscovered the magic of plants and gave them a flower shop.”

“That’s… I mean. My parents sacrificed a lot for me, always supported me, so I wanted to do this for them—help them revive their dreams. Transform them. We did it together.”

“And it makes you happy.” 

It’s at once an observation and a question—one that Shiro has many half-answers to, and no simple whole one. 

“When I was little, I didn’t want anything to do with flowers. I wanted to be an astronaut.” She can’t help but mirror Keith’s surprised smile, her own briefly sweet before it turns bitter. “Until I learned that space exploration had turned into space military, and you know, fuck the military.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, nodding emphatically.

“Then I thought I would study the stars instead. I went to grad school for it and everything. Well, started. My advisor was a really famous astrophysicist, but she was part of a generation of women who killed their humanity to make it in the field. She treated everyone terribly, her students the worst. The stress, the flare-ups… it was bad. Thus, Bunny and the plants.” Shiro slides off the stool, testing her joints before going around the counter to stand with Keith in front of the roses. “Now, I make bouquets. I keep the shop clean. I work out.” Out of the corner of her eye she catches the drop of Keith’s gaze from her face, dragging down her shoulders and chest before they flicker back up. “I enjoy those things. It’s a lot in a different way. And many days, it’s all I can do.”

“It’s enough,” Keith says, gentle and firm.

Shiro considers the roses, the palette of reds and corals and her favorite pale purple. “I like working with plants. I like that they bring people beauty and joy. I like that I get to do this with my parents. Sometimes I think it’s easier for us to run a store together than to just... be a family.” She shrugs, turning from the flowers to Keith. “I don’t know, maybe at someday I’ll want to move on, do my own thing, but for now... yes, I’m happy.” 

“I’m glad,” Keith says, smiling, and this time Shiro knows she’s absolutely sincere. 

*

Kolivan sends Keith with an order for the Bikes and Blades party on a slow afternoon, grumbling that she might as well make herself useful over there. 

“She’s one of the founders, right?” Shiro asks after she takes down the information. “You seem close.” 

“I’ve only known her for a few years, but yeah, she looks out for me.” Keith leans in, lowering her voice and her eyes conspiratorially. “I’m pretty sure she dated my mom at some point.” 

Shiro gasps dramatically. “Do tell.” 

“Kolivan practically had a heart attack when I came in for my interview. I mean, she didn’t _say_ anything, and I couldn’t tell because I hadn’t learned to read her nose twitches yet. But later she said she took one look at me and knew who I was. And I _know_ my mom is into buff older women.” 

“Oh my god,” Shiro laughs, slapping her hand over her face. She’s so cute. Her hand is so big. “I can’t imagine knowing something like that about my mom.” 

“It’s not that weird. It’s actually, uh, something we have in common.” Keith smirks as Shiro turns pink, still half-hidden by her hand. “Not that I knew that about her back then. I hadn’t seen my mom since… well, before I can remember.”

Shiro’s drops her hand, eyebrows shooting up. “This was just a few years ago?”

Keith nods. “I grew up with my dad. He’s the one who got me into cycling—he always talked about how he and my mom used to ride together, before she left. We did some epic bikepacking trips when I was a kid. But he died when I was 10.”

“Keith,” Shiro says quietly.

“The weird thing was meeting Kolivan, and the whole Bikes and Blades staff, and then my mom. I get why she had to leave, and she’s cool, but we’re more like, I dunno, comrades or something. I was used to not having anybody.”

“You’ve got me, too,” Shiro says, reaching across the counter to rest her hand on Keith’s, her expression impossibly earnest.

Keith turns her own hand over to squeeze Shiro’s briefly. “So now you know some of my formative traumas, too, since we’re sharing and all.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Shiro laughs softly.

“I don’t know, is it?” 

Shiro freezes mid-laugh. “I don’t know,” she whispers. 

Neither of them draws their hand away.

* 

Contrary to what her parents, her three exes, and a questionable Buzzfeed quiz say, Shiro is not a total disaster gay. She’s a generally competent, emotionally self-aware adult co-running a small business and keeping a mediocre apartment out of disrepair. She’s managing both her physical and mental health much better than she used to. She can talk to girls, even flirt under the right circumstances. 

Shiro is pretty sure that Keith is into her. They’ve been toeing the line between friendly and flirty for weeks, and the way she catches Keith looking at her sometimes makes her feel like she’s never been more seen, like she’s never been so right, so whole. 

She’s contemplated jogging by Bikes and Blades after work in lieu of her usual morning workout. She knows she looks good in her joggers, and the evening sun is gentle enough on her body. Most days, though, she’s out of spoons by then, and the days she’s not… 

There’s something about the flower shop that feels safe. Like the plants she cares for are protecting her and Keith from the world outside. Shiro knows friends like Keith are rare—the easy intimacy, the comfort she feels around her, and at the same time the way Keith makes her want to live bigger, breathe fuller, leap farther. 

Shiro’s gathering her courage to fall into the unknown.

Embrace the process, her therapist likes to say. Patience yields focus. So Shiro helps her mom with the Bikes and Blades order. Kolivan left the details up to them, just set a budget and an overall look, and Shiro browses the catalogues from their local suppliers for late spring blooms.

Queens of the Night, she thinks. Deep purple tulips, almost black, set against silvery green foliage. Dark like the midnight sky. The color of Keith’s eyes. 

*

Keith can’t blame Shiro for not making a move, since she hasn’t done it either, but she’s dying in the almost-not-quite-there. 

Maybe, she thinks, she can accelerate the process.

*

The day of the party dawns bright and warm after long weeks of gray. Shiro breaks out her Hawaiian shirt collection and picks a pineapple print—fun, bike shop appropriate, looks good buttoned all the way up. A potential conversation starter. 

And then Keith walks into the flower shop wearing a loose tank top and all the progress Shiro’s made crumbles to dust. 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183027291@N04/48407940247/in/dateposted-public/)

Keith’s arms are sculpted from dystopian archer fantasies, which maybe Shiro should have expected from such a physically demanding job and hobby. Black ink sprawls down one arm to her elbow, vines twining around constellations and what might be a coyote if Shiro could just look a little closer—

Shiro drags her eyes back up to Keith’s face. “I like your—” _shoulders_ “—tattoos.”

“I like your shirt,” Keith says. Her smirk is too knowing, and Shiro thinks _just do it_ but then her mom comes through the swinging doors from the back room with the arrangements for the evening’s party. 

“Wow,” Keith breathes, looking them over, and then turns her gaze to Shiro. “Gorgeous.”

Keith doesn’t stay long, fortunately for Shiro’s limited capacity for conversation, but before she hoists the last box of flowers into her (strong, beautiful) arms, she taps the flier on the bulletin board. “See you later?”

Shiro’s mom gives her a significant look. Shiro can only nod.

*

After her mom leaves, Shiro undoes the first few buttons of her shirt. Then a few more. 

*

The party is in full swing when Shiro walks in, the chatter friends and fellow bike enthusiasts mixing with the cheery folk tune of the band in the corner, but Keith swears the world dissolves to nothing but the triangle of Shiro’s skin that stretches all the way down to the waistband of her trousers, showing off her abs and the curve of her— 

“Keith!” Shiro waves, and her smile is just as big as the rest of her.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183027291@N04/48407940227/in/dateposted-public/)

Keith awkwardly introduces Shiro to her mom and Kolivan, who compliments her stoically on the flowers, and a few of her other coworkers who gather round. Shiro’s a great sport, her natural charm for carrying them through, but she looks as relieved as Keith feels when they grab drinks and find a quiet nook for themselves. 

Spare tires don’t make for the most romantic setting, but it’ll have to do.

“Some party,” Shiro remarks, sipping her champagne before setting it down.

“Sure,” Keith shrugs. “Big crowds aren’t really my thing.” 

“I never would have guessed,” Shiro teases, then pauses, biting her lip. “You wanna go celebrate somewhere else?”

“Save me,” Keith implores.

“I, uh, I live within biking distance. I mean, we can hang out,” Shiro says hastily. “Bunny hasn’t seen you in months, you know. They miss you.” 

“Shiro,” Keith says slowly, “are you trying to seduce me with your rabbit?”

Shiro huffs a laugh, reaching out to offer her hand to Keith. “Maybe. Is it working?”

Keith hums, touching her hand to Shiro’s and then sliding it up her arm, following it with her gaze until she’s looking right at Shiro’s mouth. “It worked the day we met.” 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, and then she’s bending down and Keith is leaning up, and her mouth is welcoming the press of Shiro’s lips. 

It’s a good thing they chose the most boring part of the bike store because before long they’re kissing in a way that shouldn’t be seen in public. Keith feels like she’s free falling, the rush of the first drop down a mountain trail, at the same time that she’s never felt more connected to physical world, to the touch, the taste of Shiro’s mouth on hers. She clutches Shiro’s frankly massive biceps as Shiro kisses down her neck, pausing to trace her lips and tongue over the 

“You—you really like that tattoo,” Keith pants.

“I really like you,” Shiro murmurs against her skin. She bites down gently, then pulls away just enough to catch Keith’s eye. “I have one, too.” 

“Yeah?” Keith looks her up and down blatantly, gaze lingering in the deep V of her open shirt. 

“My mom would explode if she found out, so it’s not somewhere you can see.” Shiro leans in close again. “At least, not here.”

Keith shivers, mind spiraling through the endless possibilities for the night. “Just to be clear,” she says, “I want to go to your place.”

Shiro kisses her again.

“And I want to see Bunny.”

“Okay,” Shiro laughs, kissing her cheek.

“And then I want to see your tattoo.”

“Just see it?” Shiro says, fingers tracing over the black on Keith’s shoulder.

“I’ll show you the rest when we get there,” Keith promises.

*

Shiro swipes a tulip on their way out. She gives it to Keith, who kisses it, and then kisses her.

**Author's Note:**

> confession: i am so uncoordinated on a bike that i once rode (very slowly) into a stationary pole, and i have managed to kill a succulent
> 
> i am as thirsty for comments as shiro and keith are for each other and i'd love to hear if you enjoyed this! 
> 
> i'm on twitter [@leftishark_](https://twitter.com/leftishark_), come yell about (fem!)sheith with me :)


End file.
